black feathers grey lines
by Broken Antler in Winter
Summary: A world where Richard Grayson is taken in by Deathstroke, a Renegade is born, and a boy who may have been a Robin crosses all the imaginary lines and flies. AKA my overthought Renegade AU where Renegade is awesome, Rose Wilson will have a role, and Robins fly despite no founder. Originally posted on overcooked-tortellini (tumblr).
1. a prologue

**in a way, the pariah: a prologue**

**Summary: A day at the circus, Deathstroke takes an apprentice, and the years that follow.**

**Word Count: 1776**

…

Renegade is nine years old when his parents fall.

Fall, because falling is something so different from dying. Fall, because falling is gravity's betrayal of those it cherished. Fall, because it's as sudden as the darkness that takes his heart and, perhaps, leaves a hole, taking the little boy who stood helpless as he watched and killing him.

In the end, it's a very simple affair. Death takes his parents for his own. Deathstroke takes him.

It's the same night of blood and tears that he makes just a little bit more crimson, when he stares at the whimpering man and wonders, for a moment, if he feels regret. A teardrop or two, and a conviction.

"He deserves it."

"Yes, he does," the one-eyed man affirms, "And if you come with me, train with me, learn with me, then you will be able to kill any man who ever crosses you, you will be able to take control. An enemy like this? This world you enter has no place for the weak." The man takes the gun, aims, and shoots. The whimpering stops, and he wipes away the tears.

"Now…" the man smiles. "Will you come with me?"

_(Dick Grayson is nine years old when he disappears without a trace, presumed dead. Tony Zucco, the main suspect of the death of four famous acrobats, disappears as well. _

_His file rests as a cold case. Officially, it will never be solved.)_

…

Renegade is eleven years old when he earns his name.

Well, he's not eleven yet, because one of his many names is Andrew Wilson now, and Andrew Wilson's date of birth is nowhere near the first day of Spring. Andrew Wilson is born on December 1st, some months after leaving Tony Zucco dead, and leaving a life behind. He's a small child, for his age, with brown eyes and black hair and an easy smile.

He learns a lot under Slade Wilson, most of which is how to fight, how to fight for the _kill, _and how to always, _always _win. Failure is never an option, it means punishment and retraining and deep, chilling hisses of "useless, useless, useless _child"_. Maybe he gets it, maybe he doesn't, he just knows the mercenary work doesn't have a net. No second chances, not really. _  
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He learns perhaps a hundred ways to fight, a few languages he never knew, and military tactics from the best. That is to say, Deathstroke. In all that he learns, perhaps the most important thing is a legacy.

He's Slade's apprentice, see? A way of having some lasting impact, and a catspaw in the jobs that are too…irksome for him.

He wants to be called, well, _Robin._

But he's broken the ties he had to his former life, so he can't do that. Robin's a name for a weak child, a little boy who listened to his mother and couldn't do anything, couldn't stop anything. Robin is _childish. _It's not who he intends to be, so, instead, Renegade becomes his name, because, well…"Mankind's kicked me out. That's why I'm your apprentice, isn't it?"

"Yes, we are all renegades, in a way." Deathstroke has a syringe in his hand, while Renegade methodically removes upper body clothing and lies down on the operating table while Wintergreen cuffs him to it.

"Did it hurt?" It's a silly question, for someone who decides to endure all the pains of training under a man like Slade Wilson, but despite popular belief, Slade sometimes does allow children to be children for fleeting moments. The truth though, is that nothing but curiosity fuels the question, because pain has long ago become something numb, after screams and sounds of screams. _  
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Deathstroke's smile is twisted, in a way. The man, the killer, the _survivor_, looks older than his graying hair and bitter. Hateful.

"It hurts, it burns and the screams itch up your throat but you can't make a sound. But it'll be worth it, it makes you better, stronger, smarter, and the _perfect _soldier. It _will_ be worth it." Deathstroke doesn't say that the healing factor is removed for caution, he doesn't say that he needs to _control _a renegade, as fruitless as it sounds, as it'll turn out to be. Because Renegade doesn't have the devotion, the hero-worship Deathstroke wants for his apprentice.

Because, in the end, Renegade is a wildcard, as much as Deathstroke is himself, so maybe he imbued too much of himself into a child, to be a murderer, to be a villain.

Renegade does become stronger, smarter, the perfect soldier.

It won't be worth it, though. It's doesn't _feel_ better.

_(Renegade is eleven years old when he first appears on the news. No one knows anything about this new criminal, but for his name and his youth and the fact that he kills a man. In Gotham. _

_He earns a profile in the Justice League's database, managed by the Batman, youngest currently inside. _

_It doesn't say much. _

_It probably never will.)_

…

Renegade is thirteen when he leaves.

Age nine is a blur of fear and desperation and a sort of fury that tests your blood and eats you whole.

Age ten is training, training, and only training, a promise and a prayer for the power that comes with being able to kill, the power to stop yourself from _losing _things.

Age eleven is the rerun of the same show, killing, making mistakes, discipline, and killing marks again, until all the blood turns to dust before his eyes and he can close his eyes and _smile. _

Age twelve is the feeling of fame and the monotony of the blood and pleads and the rush. It's when he claws at his face until he draws blood and it doesn't heal but doesn't matter because he always, always wears that mask. Maybe it's loneliness, but how can he know when it's the only constant? _  
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So it becomes a process, when age thirteen becomes taking his life in control again. It becomes staring Wintergreen down with a gun as the man steps away from the door and lets him go, since Wintergreen is _old _now even if Slade may never be.

"Wintergreen, _do _tell Slade Wilson I said goodbye."

It's the smell of morning for the first time in years, the burn of sun in his eyes and a cackle, loud and eerie, that he uses to scare marks at night, though this time to rejoice because maybe that's the only way he can laugh anymore. It's a metamorphosis.

He's a butterfly now, wonderful.

_(Renegade is thirteen when he becomes a mercenary of his own right. The criminal underground knows him as a cheaper Deathstroke. His sparse file on the Justice League database grows with another list of deaths. _

_An apartment is bought under the name of someone not real, Renegade receives a job offer, and the butterflies.)_

…

In one world, where Dick Grayson exists outside of faint memories of times when things are _better_, where the name Robin is a wonder and something to emulate, the hero has a code to never _kill. _

In this world, where there is no Last Flying Grayson, only an outcast with a code that he does not harm children, _most_ of the time, Renegade is hired by Lex Luthor to protect Cadmus' Project Kr. Well, Renegade is hired by Mark Desmond, even if he knows who is behind pulling the strings, though he'll never speak a word.

When two sidekicks come blundering in, getting themselves captured, Renegade stays with Project Kr and might have convinced the clone to freedom.

Might. Have.

In this world, an assassin finds himself fascinated with a team of young heroes struggling for a type of togetherness. In this world, Renegade joins a team of heroes with the promise of, not money and not power, but a chance for, what? Redemption? Freedom? A chance to not be shackled by the past?

He becomes part of this, part of a revolution of new, younger heroes. Even if he's not a sidekick, not a hero, and not anything that they can define.

And, in this world, the moment that he thinks that maybe, _just _maybe, he may fit as more than this danger, this _rogue, _the moments when he feels like he might just belong, he wonders.

Maybe Renegade can become a hero.

Once again, a thought crosses his mind. Robin, he always wanted to be called that. Maybe he can leave…

_(In one world, things don't fall apart._

_In this world, no one knows.)_

…

Renegade is fourteen when the team sees him kill.

It's not… He isn't…

Roland Desmond was going to _kill _them, and he would have succeeded. Blockbuster needed to be _put down._

Miss Martian, Kaldur, he thinks _maybe _they understand, because one lived in a middle of civil war, and the other, just like him, is a _fighter _to the bone and maybe more. But then there's others who stare at him with disgust and he leaves before they have to _ask, _so if anyone wants to know, Renegade can see when he is not welcome, will never be.

They thought he was a hero now, reformed.

It's not what it _looks _like. He isn't a _monster. _

In one world, there's a boy called Dick Grayson who would never, _ever _kill, and it translates even as he grows older. There's a code, a rule, and there are lines that no one, not even _Batman, _especially not Batman, can cross.

In this world, there's a nameless boy except for a title who lets the knife slip too easily, a battle of light and darkness and the darkness always seems to win.

He's not a hero, not a villain, and not a soldier, not anymore.

Rogue, renegade, maybe even a pariah, of sorts. The hero world isn't going to accept him, and he's not going to go running back to the villains.

He's an in-between. Outsider. But it's part of the life.

A wildcard, and when met with another rogue, that's always the best card to play.

_(In one world, there's a boy, Bruce Wayne's ward, and he lives a life that's a mix of laughter and screams, but it's fine, because he has friends and a family and people to rely on. _

_In this world, there's a boy, Deathstroke's former apprentice, and he lives a life that's all adrenaline rush and danger and never dare look back, but it's fine, because he doesn't care about legacy. _

_He wants freedom.)_

…

The Team never really forgets their once-upon-a-time rogue.

That's why, almost three years after he leaves, he receives a call, a job offer perfect for a rogue like him.

Kaldur wants his help.

Time to pay an old mentor a visit.


	2. downtime

**brokering liaisons and into that night: downtime**

**Summary: Renegade receives, and accepts, an invitation. Set during downtime. **

**Word Count: 1000, approx. **

**Note: Any vignettes in the Renegade AU verse will not be posted in chronological order. **

Renegade doesn't go out hero-watching that day, with a feeling, a feeling in the gut that the Junior Justice League isn't exactly doing anything interesting.

It's not much to go on, though, come on, he needs a break from heroes.

And _then_ Batman and Black Canary come in to his Bludhaven apartment through his window, because, _honestly, _these vigilantes have _no_ manners.

Black Canary really does _nothing _to hide her identity except maybe fishnets, and his security cameras are taking clear images of her face for future reference in the case of identities. Batman is as dark and menacing as Batman can be, but being in a small, cramped apartment, plainly decorated, and staring down what an outsider _may _call a child?

It's a wonderful effect.

Renegade's first thought is, _oh shit, they're coming to arrest me. Fun. _It doesn't seem like an accurate prediction, or Batman would have come alone. But, then again, they aren't _sure _of what his abilities are, so…backup, to deal with him. Huh, he almost feels flattered. _Or…maybe they're coming to interrogate me about Wilson. _No one understands what _former _means these days.

There's this long, _awkward_ silence when Renegade stands up abruptly from his activity of sharpening his favourite knives and blinks. And Renegade's hand inches ever so closely to his handgun, just in case. _I mean, knives are cool and stuff, but guns are easy. _

Batman coughs. Sort of. Not really. "Renegade. We, the Justice League, have an offer to make for you."

Batman is stoic. Black Canary smiles. Renegade _grins. _"What kind of offer?" he asks, though he's _pretty sure _what they're going to say, "How's the pay? I don't work for less than five hundred k a hit, US. Of course, if you want to haggle the price lower, I'd be willing if it's an _easy _job. Bills are, of course, non-sequential, and I'd prefer tens or twenties, easier to spend. Now, if you're talking about placing a hit on Lex Luthor, it's free." Luthor's not in the circle of villains, he hides his identity too well, and it makes for a hit that doesn't affect his reputation. _  
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Reputation, of course is key, as Wilson always said. _  
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The Dark Knight seems _offended. _The canary lady rolls her eyes.

"Our _offer_," he grits his teeth and growls, "is for you to join a covert operations team. That you have been keeping an eye on." He pauses. "We've noticed."

It's a way to keep an eye on him, Renegade guesses. The team they have don't notice him, he can cause them harm, so if he joins the team, then the JLA have him under their control. If recruiting him means all the benefits of someone who knows the ins and outs of the 'bad-guy' business, then all the better, right?

Sighing, Renegade restates, "How's the pay? I don't do things for free. Not all the time, at least. And if you're going to make me waste my time saving cats from trees…" It's not that, it's just…he the assassin lifestyle means lots of funds, maintaining multiple safehouses and multiple identities. Also, he's buying a motorcycle. A _really _cool motorcycle.

It's going to be called the _R-_cycle. Granted, not his most creative naming, but he's already planned out the upgrades, and _boy _are they going to be _fine. _

The canary lady steps up, "We're offering you a chance. You're willing to be a hero, to change your ways. This team is the perfect place for that."

Renegade turns away, walks to the fridge, and takes out an ice pop. _Yes, Lemonade flavour. _

Batman's not really _twitching, per se_, but he does seem…irked. Perhaps he expected the former apprentice (not protege; protege means guided, gently pushed along the path, apprentice means molded, controlled, _must be better_) of Deathstroke to be more serious about this situation. Of course, Wilson never really gave a damn about whether or not his Renegade was serious, as long as the job was done perfectly.

The bastard found it _amusing_. _  
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It's not unusual that Renegade's thoughts turn vindictively to Slade, who makes him who he is today, and takes away something that he used to have. Not something material. Just a feeling, something's missing.

"At least ten k a successful mission, and that's a very, very great bargain. I mean, sure the League is probably dirt poor compared to the big league villains-" Oh-ho! That was definitely a twitch there, "-but they can at least cough up that much."

Inspiration strikes. Renegade smirks. "Actually, I have a better idea. I join this Team, and _you _give me access to your tech."

Access to their tech means access to their databases. Access to their databases means, not secret IDs, those are guarded to carefully, but vital details to defeating heroes and villains alike.

_I mean, I've been thinking about expanding my database. _

"If so, it will be under _our _terms." Batman growls, but that's his default, so Renegade can't really tell of the _hero_ hates him, or just hates everything in general.

Probably the latter, if he's being honest.

Nonetheless, Batman, the Caped Crusader (_why _did heroes always wear capes?), is not whelmed, as in the calmness and understanding, familiarity with a situation. Overwhelmed or underwhelmed is what Renegade can't tell at the moment.

Renegade nods, patiently licking his ice pop. Out of all the food he _finally _gets to taste again after breaking free from Deathstroke's _intense _training regime, this is one of his favourites, along with cotton candy. He'll have to swing about Bludhaven later to burn off extra calories, a dilapidated city of a playground, but _his, _not dominated by some local villain or vigilante except for maybe a few arrogant dirty cops that no one wants to bother with. It's disgusting, grimy, and _beautiful. __  
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He'll flip and tumble through the concrete jungle, performing for nothing except for shadows, and it'll be _the best, _since birds are born to fly, and it's as close as he can get to being that child again. He'll swing and find the _perfect _angle for a triple, but not a quadruple. No one's _that _stupid.

Right now, Batman warns darkly, as a final word that heroes always love having so much, "No killing."

"We would arrest you," Black Canary explained patiently, glancing at Batman from time to time, "but you'd escape. We thought this would be a better, mutually beneficial arrangement. The rule, _no killing, _means not just on missions, but everywhere."

"Right, right, right," he rolls his eyes. There are better ways to get an adrenaline rush.


	3. independence day

**an ace up your sleeve: independence day**

**Summary: Renegade starts working security for Cadmus Labs, realizes that he's _sort of _made a mistake, and there are clones, test tubes, and sidekicks. **

**Wordcount: 2435**

**Note: This is the last one I posted on Tumblr, updates after this are going to be very, very eccentric. **

There's a knock on his door, a scuffling of feet, and then silence. Andrew Wilson- he's Andrew Wilson now -opens his door and looks out, seeing no one and immediately noticing the sealed envelope on the ground. A job offer.

He rolls his eyes, licks his lips, and picks it up, removing the wax seal with flourish. If he accepts, this will be his fourth job since leaving Slade.

It surprised Andrew the first time he realizes how well known Slade and his identities are among the mercenaries and the villains that hire them. Simply put, Deathstroke the Terminator was far too liberal with his identity in the beginning of his career, leading to a few situations. Andrew doesn't know anything specific, he only knows that one of Slade's family was hurt and it is where Slade lost his eye.

Andrew doesn't know if that's what makes Slade bitter, or if he already was.

That doesn't mean Andrew spends much time in his apartment. Most of the time, he's one of the alternate IDs that no one knows (except Slade).

His favourite is Colin Hobbes; the apartment in Bludhaven has always been his favourite, with high rises and skyscrapers surrounding it, the perfect place for flying. He's been spending most of his time there.

It's good timing, for the good fairy to deliver the message while he's here, so he gets it in time. Usually, no one knows when he stays here, and if an offer is to be made, well then, you'd have to wait in some of the seedier bars in Bludhaven or Gotham for some kid in sunglasses and black kevlar. Even Metropolis, if he feels up to doing some daredevil stunts. In that case, he doesn't wear civvies.

Like skipping stones, he doesn't stay in one spot for long.

Make an identity, wait a month or two, move on. Lather, rinse, repeat. Flush. Easy as that and wash away the history.

"Well, except Andrew." He needs an ID that ties to Slade, so that people can leave little messages in his box, and so that he has a recognizable cover as Slade Wilson's nephew. But that's the beauty of it. Andrew doesn't have a real identity, they can't target the people he loves. There aren't any.

He goes into his apartment with the door locked tight behind him, dusts everything for fingerprints, finds none, pockets the contents in his belt, and burns the envelope. The smoke wafts around the room, so he opens the window and, with a grappling hook, flies home.

By the time he gets there, it's far past midnight and his limbs ache from the effort of car-to-car from Gotham. Usually he takes the bus.

This time he felt a need to stretch his legs.

Andrew takes the contents from his belt, which require a fingerprint scan, though he always wipes off the fingerprint after placing his finger there.

He yawns. That's the con of your master (_former _master) being too much of a control freak to give you regenerative healing. Andrew can _only _go three or four days without sleep and, considering the meta competition in their field, it doesn't always work in his favour.

Stretching out like a cat on the threadbare couch that he only bought a week or two ago, Andrew rereads the offer. "Cadmus Labs Genetic Research Facility, huh?" he mutters to himself, "I know this, I _know _this. Where did I hear about it before?" The answer comes to him as he was straining his mind in thought. It's Lex Luthor's place, _of course_! The man placed a hit on Renegade once, and Deathstroke's answer was that Luthor was trying to test his skills, though they never really traced it back to Luthor himself.

_He's a slippery bastard, but the pay's still good. Wonder what he has at Cadmus to lose…_

Renegade stretches, hops out the window of the ninth story apartment, and flies to a phone booth on the other side of the city. He dials the number in the file and leaves a message. "Sure. I accept."

By the time he arrives back to his dingy apartment, Renegade can hardly keep his eyes open. He removes his bodysuit, puts on shorts and a t-shirt, and collapses on the couch.

That night he dreams of warping passageways, chases across corridors, friends dressed as knights, and _falling. _

…

But that isn't right. What friends does he have?

…

Truth be told, Cadmus is quite…boring. Dr. Mark Desmond is the one who hired him, and though the things they are doing, with telepathic genomorphs and such, are quite amazing, his _job _is boring. They go to sub-level 52, down a twisted hallway that looks as if it's made of flesh twisted with some real-life form of descolada.

They don't give him a tour, instead shepherding him to the room.

It's not as if they're going to reveal all the facility's secrets to some rogue who'd probably sell it for a quick buck.

Which Renegade _would. _

"This is a G-Gnome, it will guide you through the procedures of Cadmus, and your duties. You will be guarding Project Kr when I'm occupied," Guardian explains. Guardian wears a golden helmet and a yellow and blue suit, but it isn't like Renegade's going to recognize him even without it on.

Narrowing his eyes, Renegade asks, "Telepathy? Are those things telepathic? If they are, and if they try to control me, I will _kill _it. Kill it. And you. Believe me, I can." The threat slips from his lips before he can stop it, and he is rather pleased with himself. Guardian's a hero, and knows he is a villain, but Renegade's seen what the G-Gnomes can do, when the masked man's eyes go blank.

"Perhaps…" Guardian contemplates the words, "I'll explain to you your duties instead.

The duties are simple enough. There is a chart, for reference, for the stats that should be showing up on Project Kr's screen. Renegade has to guard Kr, and he will also notify the scientists if anything is out of the norm. More importantly, he is supposed to kill anyone who tries to set free or destroy Project Kr, considering Guardian isn't the type to let the knife slip. It's rather like babysitting, and Project Kr, at sixteen weeks old on the file, is something like a baby. Or a teenager, if you prefer physical age.

Project Kr, which is a clone. Of Superman.

Fiddle-dee-dee.

How did Renegade have _so much luck_ to always bump into the big guys? "So, this is a clone. Of Superman. Raised in a tube."

"Yes," Guardian nods.

"Raised in a fucking _tube._" Renegade's not _that _prone to swearing, though he learned enough when he entered the business, even if he already knew some from _before. _But _try _to find someone his age who _doesn't _swear, and he'll give you half his pay for this boring, _boring_ job.

Guardian seems to think on the words for a second, before the G-Gnome on his shoulder glows, or something, and he stands stock still. Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit. __They'd better keep those things away from me. No one is touching my mind. _

Renegade backs away slowly and says, "Alright, I'll get started then." Guardian turns around and leaves the room and the doors close, _locked from the outside_, but a G-Gnome stays and the panic claws up his throat.

What _if- What if they don't let me leave? _

He sighs and glares at the test-tube teenager. "This is all _your _fault. Should have never accepted this freaking job. You know what? I'm _not_ coming back." The clone doesn't say anything, of course, considering he's in a _tube_ and has probably never been conscious in his life-

Alright, now that is just all kinds of sad.

Renegade should have known, should have _known. _Anything remotely involving Lex Luthor is always bound to be a pit of vipers. But he can't _do _anything. Without back-up, without a distraction, he's going to be _dead _and how can he be so _stupid? _So he takes a lollipop out of his belt before thinking, _oh, right. I can't eat through this mask. _His costume is designed for maximum efficiency, belt and gauntlets for storing tricks up figurative sleeves, black kevlar cotton blend, steel toes on the footwear, and, of course, the mask.

It's a flimsy one, made of cheap fabrics to cover most of his face and a sort of metal covering that includes his communications devices. But it works and doesn't obscure his voice, so it's kept.

Maybe he should just cut an opening in the mask when he gets home.

No thoughts on if. Not allowed.

In the middle of that thought is when the G-Gnome informs him of three intruders on sub-level 26 and a fire on the surface floors, though the people on lower floors need not evacuate. There are intruders, but it's not a red alarm, so of course they'll probably be dealt with easily. Maybe Intergang? He runs his fingers through his hair in exasperation. _First day here, and we have intruders. _

Something lights up in his head. Maybe this will be the distraction he needs.

Renegade vaguely recalls the fact that today is the Fourth of July, Independence Day. Hot dogs and fireworks and the day that the Justice League was going to bring their sidekicks to the open together, or something. He could have been watching that, instead of sitting around and maybe fighting off intruders who have nothing more to do than bother old Renegade in his workplace.

He takes out his escrima sticks with the retraced blades, and turns on the taser. Just in case.

"You're lucky you have me, clone-boy." Renegade turns on the screen on his gauntlet and hacks into Cadmus' systems,

He needs to get out. He will get out. These intruders are the perfect distraction.

He's Renegade, and for him, that has always meant something like magic and something like death.

…

Renegade watches for the intruders, bird's eye. He hasn't found them yet, though they're probably far from the high-speed elevator. He sees a blur of yellow in the midst of armies of G-Trolls, great and lumbering, licks his lips beneath the mask, and slows down the footage.

It's Kid Flash.

Kid _fucking _Flash.

"And I thought it was just some B-list trying to steal tech," he mutters. All these years of trying to stay out of the attention of the Justice League at Slade's behest, except for that_one time in Gotham_…

Well…junior heroes are always a lot more fun than their older and grouchier counterparts. There's also this older boy…Aqualad. _They could set clone-boy free, me free. And I'll disappear. _

_They can set him free, and I can use the time to…get paid. Use Desmond's name and make it seem like he's the one embezzling from Project Cadmus, and I'm home free. _He makes a decision. No one is supposed to _live _like this, it isn't living. The clone _is _sentient, and he isn't going to risk them taking his DNA, his _serum-infused _DNA and throwing his body in a ditch.

Using the touch-screen on his gauntlet, he sets his programs on the locked door and throws knock-out gas at the G-Gnome, hopes for the best, and seeing the unconscious creature, bypasses the security of Cadmus, opens the doors, and downloads all the most important files.

He sets them to appear in the hallway the sidekicks stand in, gawping at the genomorphs generating energy.

Renegade hates Cadmus.

As he leaves, one of the scientists walk in. She's not like the other ones, doesn't really know that he isn't supposed to leave. He says, "I'm going down to help Guardian in neutralizing the intruders," before running off as fast as his feet can take him.

When he gets to the 26 floor, Guardian is in the middle of fighting the sidekicks, and no one's noticed him yet.

Kid Fish shocks Guardian and Flash Boy rams into the man. Renegade tosses half of his supply of smoke pellets before looking the two sidekicks in the eye, and shouts, "Come with me if you want to live."

…

It's not as if Renegade expects the questions _not _to come when peace is achieved. "Who the _hell _are you?" Kid Flash yells, backing into the reinforced steel walls of the express elevator. "Why are you taking us down?"

This has to be fast. Renegade has to seem like he's chasing them, see? "I need you to free Project Kr. And get to the surface. I'll help you escape. But you have to pretend I'm trying to catch you. I'll hack the systems and lead you all out."

"You are a villain, are you not?" Aqualad's water weapons are out. "You work for _Cadmus. _What is the price?"

Kid Flash takes a long look at him, and exclaims, "You're _Renegade. _You fought with Batman once! What are you doing helping us?"

"I'm in the frying pan as much as you are," Renegade hisses, "I have the serum in my blood, so they'll take my DNA, throw me in a gutter, and I'll be dead. I have no use for myself dead. More important than that, though…don't you want to know about the truth of Project Kr?"

"What is it?"

"_Who _is it. And, of course, Superman's clone."

When the elevator stops, he takes them down the halls and locks them in a room with the clone and shouts at Guardian that they're with Project Kr. For a second he's afraid that they know he's going to run, but he can't be afraid because he's _Renegade _and if he's managed to keep the fear locked in a box of secrets for so long, then he isn't going to be afraid for his life now.

His lovely, shitty life.

They're (he doesn't know why he's part of the 'they' now when he hardly knows those do-gooders who would want nothing more than to lock him up) in the grasp of the enemy now, but it doesn't matter.

They just need clone-boy on their side.

And Renegade has just one more trick up his sleeve to go home to…his life that he hasn't quite figured out yet. It's a long time since he doesn't have anyone controlling him, and he's not sure exactly what to call it.

Survive this, get the money, Renegade keeps his…freedom? Gains freedom for another?

Freedom…

No…you're never free from being a rogue, that's a life that takes you by its talons and keeps hold forever.

_Independence. _


	4. over the years

**and we must be madness: over the years**

**Summary: Renegade and Cheshire, rivalry, alliance, and perhaps even friendship, through the ages.**

**Word Count: 2548**

**Note: I'm awesome now because I wrote this. Yeah ladies. Also, schools starting, so updates will probably be even slower. **

**. . . **

There's no rustling, no sound of footfalls or signs of a forced entry before the presence is announced by a simple shadow cast over his working table. At this time of night, there are three or four people who know his alias of Robbie Kay and would come. Batman, who really, _honestly_, has no right to come, because Renegade's been there and done his time with the hero community.

He's _done,_ setting up another ID that hasn't been compromised by the heroes' little plans, and getting the hell away from Bludhaven for at least the next few years. Otherwise it can be Deathstroke coming along to visit his estranged daughter and challenge him to a fight that he knows Renegade won't agree to, the second Robin who seems to think that Renegade is a mystery for the little detective to unravel with Rose's reluctant help, or...

"Hello, Andrew Wilson." A _purr._

She's wearing her civvies, still in her favorite green that her sister for some reason used to wear as well, hair an insanity like the aftermath of a explosion of pitch black as if she just took off her mask and clothes and changed into civvies without bothering, and she just climbed in through his window. At least Rose isn't here right now.

"You know that isn't my name."

"I'm one of a kind, Dickface." Jade grins. It looks more natural than her mask. "A few months ago I wanted to kill you very, very much. Maybe I still do."

"Yet I'm not dead," Renegade gasps, "What a _surprise._"

"If I went to kill you, I'd be dead. There was Deathstroke to deal with, and that _girl _of yours, Tigress, or at least that's what the assassin rumour mill was saying. You've grown up, little boy, playing the big leagues now. I have something not to risk my life for vengeance for."

"I've always played the big leagues, Jade." Renegade turns to face her. "You know that _nobody _gets out of the business alive, right? I tried and I just got sucked back in. Now the war's over and the soldier's useless, so he becomes a rogue once again." It's not fair, he thinks, it _isn't, _but when has anything ever been fair? It's the best way to survive, not the best way to live, and he thinks that after _all _of these years he still won't surrender his life. He will not. "But still, Jade...Harper?"

Jade laughs scornfully. "You know that isn't my name. Nguyen women don't bend to propriety."

"Still, Jade, I wish you luck. Hope Lian learns to be just as vicious, fierce, and strong as her mother." _Someone has to have a happy ending. Someone has to show them that the renegades can do it too, even if we can't and we'll get ourselves killed before that ever happens. _

For a second, she seems remorseful. "I...should have tried. To get you out. You were a kid, but that never lasts long, does it? Allow a crotchety former assassin her regrets. The Junior Justice League are worrying about their favourite rogue, or at least the ones who are old enough to care. My _dearest _little sister sent me here. She wants you to go to the funeral, she wants you to go back to working with the little co-ops. My, my, I never knew you were so friendly with her."

Tracing the wooden grain lines on his desk, he whispers, "I don't owe it to him. I don't owe _anyone. _I didn't go to theirs and I want to...I just want to leave this behind. Go back to living-"

"Now, now...that isn't really living, is it?"

"Then what _do _you suggest?"

And the problem with Jade is that she _never _has the answers, expects you to figure it out yourself, and she pushes you halfway there to a point where you can't hide anymore. "Do you think Rose would want to go with you? She's sixteen and she just found her place. She's a happy member of the Junior Justice League. You want her to leave? Fat chance. Just...go to funeral, will you? There's a lot of funerals in life you can miss, this isn't one of them."

"You helped save the world...Richard. Nobody expected that you wouldn't be able to save yourself."

Not Andrew, not Richard, don't you get it? It's just _Renegade. _

**. . .**

But it is, isn't it? Richard John Grayson, nickname Dick because Richard seems too much for a humble flyer.

She saved him once, when he was thirteen years old, still with Slade and in over his head. He doesn't pay attention to the sniper pointed to his head because _dammit _it's April Fool's and-

_"My Renegade, _why _are you crying?" _

-the bottles he uses to keep it all away shatters and the blood spills out and he doesn't start wearing the tattered cloth mask until he leaves Deathstroke months later, but _shit _does he want it now.

"Andrew?"

He shudders and sobs and the henchmen are all dead so why does he bother to make it _stop stop stop? _"D-don't _call me _that, it's not my _name_. _He_'s not my dad, he doesn't _own me._" _Now that's a lie, little Dickie. Body and soul. Body and soul. They'd be so proud. _"They're _dead, _they're _dead _and I'm a _fucking killer._"

It's such a great story.

They'd be so proud.

Chesh, though she's _Jade _by then, doesn't give him any empty words and doesn't say it'll be alright, because that's a lie and Jade's _honest, _if only by her standards. It's a lie and lying only breaks everything even more when none of the well-wishing comes true. She tells him, "If he doesn't own you, then stop letting him. They'd be happy if you were free."

It's a guess, of course. Jade's father hates that she's free and her mother doesn't _know _what to think except to hope that her daughter will come back. But maybe Renegade had the good kind, the parents who care and love and die too early. It sets a spark that makes him escape less than a month later, pointing a gun to Wintergreen who he _hates _because he's servile and _devoted _to Slade and they come as a package.

"You'll make it. You're strong. Now smile, easier not to break when you pretend to be right."

And that's the truest thing she can say.

He grins through the sheen of tears. He can pretend not to be broken. "April Fool's. Do you...do you want to know my real name?"

**. . .**

"If dislike means the opposite of like, then what does aster mean?"

"My _word_. Let's just kill the prime minister and get out of here."

**. . .**

From when he's ten to when he's twelve, Deathstroke works for the League of Shadows. Ra's al Ghul offers Slade a deal, and, with the honour among thieves, he accepts. The Demon's Head is known to be good to those who serve him, and herciless for those who don't It's how he amasses a veritable army of loyal followers. Ninjas, Renegade will call them _years _later when he stops _fearing _them or respecting them and, well...

Ra's al Ghul's kind of a dick.

It's not anything except for the fact that he _sort of _wants to obliterate mankind, and since there's something called the 'Light' and Renegade has _no fucking idea _what that is except for the fact that it's _fucking creepy. _Renegade may be an assassin, but he's also a member of mankind, the thing that the Demon's Head wants to obliterate. Yeah, it sucks to be human. "And soon, the world will see the _Light_," is a common statement among the assassins who actually _believe _in the cause, who are few and far between.

A few months after March 21st and a few months before _Andrew Wilson _turns eleven, Renegade gets, not a solo mission, but one with a partner. Her name is Cheshire.

_"Jade Nguyen, daughter of the mercenary and member of the League of Shadows Lawrence Crock. Seventeen years old. Find the mark, get to the mark, and kill the mark. Do not trust her." _

It's the first time he meets someone his age in a long time, except for the six year age gap, of course.

He welcomes it, but he's afraid.

They meet on a rooftop in Kiev, sent to assassinate a high-ranking official in Ukraine's government, _very_ vocal against a subdivision of the League of Shadows, a terrorist organization known as the кривавий зірка, constantly demanding action.

"Hello, Renegade," she purrs, drawing out the last syllable. She fits the mask very well, a cat and a _vicious _one, independent, self-sufficient, and deadly."I've heard so _very _much about you. I expected you to be..._taller._"

Renegade rolls his eyes. He's heard that many, _many _times. The serum gives him strength, but it doesn't make him grow. He has to wait like any good child he isn't. "I expected you to be less hairy," he snipes back. He doesn't really mean body hair, because _nope not looking there _and her boots are _way _too high anyways. It's the _mane _that passes itself off as human hair. _"Do not trust her." _Renegade isn't trusting her, he's just...challenging her. He inches slowly towards her and holds out his knife, stroking it. He doesn't have a favourite weapon, but he has to keep up _appearances_ of being a maniac.

"I'm willing to bet that this little assassin can kill faster you," Renegade whispers. He cackles, the one that no one seems to be able to imitate, and everyone is just the slightest bit disturbed by. Dis-turbed...huh. "_Race _you," he laughs, and backflips off the rooftop before flying into the night.

He doesn't get to see Cheshire chortle and say, "Kid's got guts. But I'll beat the little bastard."

She does, because Sportsmaster does not train useless children, only children who kill or be killed can be deemed useful. She wins because she's older, more experienced, not stronger, but better since skill and brains beat serum-induced brawn anytime.

It's expected.

It doesn't stay that way.

Renegade becomes one of the best.

But it doesn't matter, because, for the first time in _years, _Renegade feels like he's having fun.

**. . .**

It's raining, _pouring, _and he still patrols the city and stops a few attempted assaults, murders, and rapes, before turning around and stealing a diamond necklace from Ernesta Porcelli, daughter of a Bludhaven crime boss, and leaving nothing but a recording of a cackle.

His trademark.

Ravager is at Mount Justice. She wouldn't mind his little slip. After all, it was only a sixty-carat diamond.

And then, he hears a voice. It's familiar, but different. Desperate, and that doesn't make _any _sense, since Chesh is the type without desperation and only madness in her eyes as she hunts for a mark, takes him down, and learns to _smile _even after. _  
><em>

He turns around.

She's not wearing the mask.

She's not wearing the suit.

It's civvies and a baseball cap and a look in her eyes that's a little bit hysterical.

She's...rounder.

"I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant with the _original Roy Harper _obsessed Red fucking Arrow's child."

"I don't think I know what to do."

Later on, he'll realize it's _telling _that she comes to him first, even when she has a sister that'll help her the way that siblings always do (though Richard Grayson's only ever had a cousin, don't you remember?). But they're both assassins, Renegade and Cheshire, and a little bit unstoppable.

He understands. They understand each other.

He takes her (to his) home.

She smiles, laughs, sneers.

He smiles back.

(They're just a little bit like family.)

(He doesn't know why.)

**. . .**

He notices her before she gets in. It's not that Jade _can't _sneak up on Renegade, she stopped doing it by the time he turns twelve. It's sort of...the thing that they have, he doesn't know _what _it is, only that it's fun and it's nice and it's stained with blood. Renegade remembers April Fool's and he pushes it away because he doesn't want it to happen except now she knows his _name, _the one he _never _calls himself because he stopped deserving it a long time ago.

It's still nice, though.

"How does it go, Miss Nguyen?" Renegade opens the window for her and leads her in with overdone courtesy.

"It's a pleasure, Grayson." She rolls her eyes but plays along, for once. The last time he opened a door for her, she trips him. He still lands on his feet, of course, but the sentiment is upsetting. He thinks they're good friends, but he can't really tell. He's getting close with the Team now and they feel like a second family, but he still keeps things away from them that he's told Jade a while ago.

He's only been on the Team a few weeks, he has to _stop _thinking like this.

It doesn't matter, Renegade knows why she's here, and it's a little amusing, honestly. "So, you wanted to ask me about your sister? She's doing well, and they know nothing."

Cheshire laughs. "That's not all the reason I'm here. Wish Artemis luck for me, I can't really break the evil assassin sister image by saying it to her face." She takes of the mask and the kimono as well, while Renegade looks away, blushing. There's clothes under there, but _barely. _Going to his closet, she pulls out a box that she gave him in case of emergencies, and he doesn't know what's in there yet, and finds it's civvies. "You uncomfortable?" she asks, amused, "I can leave."

"This is embarrassing."

"Deal with it, Grayson." She sits herself down on his couch, turns on the television, and plays HBO. There's reruns of Game of Thrones on, and they make fun of the good guys and cheer for them too.

They cheer for the good guys. It's funny. They do it in real life, behind closed doors, but they're still rogues in the end.

**. . . **

"I went to the funeral."

No answer.

"I returned to the Team."

No answer.

"The newbies don't really like me."

No answer.

"I might be finding something to live for, Jade, just like you."

No answer.

"I'm feeling the aster."

Jade laughs in his face, and it's scornful in a way that cuts and burns and it's a habit. Dick deflects with jokes and it numbs the world in a way that takes away the heart and it's a habit too.

"Come in, Dick. Lian wants to meet her _beloved _godfather."

That night, Roy Harper (which one, oh which one) learns his (one true) name, and Lian spits in his face. Rose comes along through the middle and practically _falls in love _with violent, misbehaving little Lian. Harper calls for a pizza, two pizzas, and it feels almost good.

(They're just a little bit like family.)

_Your family is dead. _

(He knows why.)

_Nothing will ever tell you why. _

(They're the rogues, the wild cards, the ones they call _mad_. They _have _to make a family of their own.)

_Does it matter anymore?_

The renegades can do it too, you know. They can have a happy ending and the world's only _just _begun.


	5. performance

**dust off your wings: performance**

**Summary: Renegade knows he shouldn't, knows he should stay away, but he's never been able to deny the circus anything. **

**Word Count: 2165**

**Note: This was shorter than I wanted it to be. Oh well. **

**. . . **

He shouldn't do this, Richard is _dead _(_in three more years. It takes seven years for the missing to be declared dead_). He shouldn't do this, because he's _Renegade _now, not anyone else. It's what he has to be, has had to be for the last four years going on five, which is a third of his life.

Yet, it's _Haly's _Circus (_your house, your home, your family, your refuge even when it isn't_). Haly's Circus being run under by some lowlife within's crimes. He _can't _(_won't_) let that happen, not without going out in a fight.

"Anyways," he reassures himself, "he's dead, or will be dead in a few years. No one is looking for him. I've grown up, I've changed, everything will be fine. I'm _Renegade _for fuck's sake! I can handle this. I _will _handle this." He takes a breath and walks into the Zeta-Beam, readying the words in his head. _I won't be able to convince them Batman assigned this, but..._

They all owe him _something. _Renegade collects his due.

(_You don't think what you owe them, something not your life and more of your soul, but renegades are supposed to be heartless and so are you, so you owe them nothing._)

(_everything_)_  
><em>

There's a sudden light, blinding and powerful, before he finds himself in the cave, with the damp smell of cavern mingled with the smell of gingerbread. He walks towards Superboy. Conner owes him for Cadmus, and even though a decent person would never hold that against a friend, Renegade is, believe it or not, _no decent person_.

Leave that to the heroes.

"Hi Supes!" Renegade calls out. He knows all the lines to this, to manipulate someone out of guilt and obligation, to go on an off-the-books mission and tell them _nothing. _He can deal with them thinking that he's there to steal something, but he needs this. He needs to save his _(once-upon-a)_ home.

Maybe he should have called Jade. Well, it doesn't really matter, because, in the end, he _(helped_) freed Superboy from Cadmus, it's easy to use his emotions to reel Miss M in, Artemis is a rogue trying to reform (_and you know all her secrets_), Wally West isn't afraid of just a little rule-breaking (_"I saw the file on the backburner for the JL, come on, we can prove ourselves to them, so they'd actually let us be more than this, that's what you wanted when you formed this little team."_), and the _hell _if Roy Harper is going to let them go on their own. Kaldur...is better left alone. He sticks to the rules and Renegade doesn't have anything to convince them.

He hands them fake passports and IDs, they get on the Bioship, and they take off. "Where do we stop, Renegade?" M'gann asks as she directs the Bioship towards, vaguely enough, _Europe_.

Renegade thinks for a moment. "I know this abandoned circus ground in Bruges that's just _perfect._"

Time to perform.

**. . .**

Half the circus is down with the twenty-four hour flu, from what Renegade notices when he scouts the circus while the others practice. He's on the roof of the train and he watches through the windows and takes a deep breath. The others are still training their routine. Artemis and Wally could actually be good at show business, but Harper is a stubborn pig who can't seem to take the hint to smile, Conner being the same, while M'gann's nervous anxiety impedes her performance.

He does take it all for granted, you know. He's only the arrogant thirteen, will be fourteen in a few months depending on his identity, and he's a _brilliant _performer. Renegade's out of practice, yes, but give him a couple of batons and fifteen minutes on stage, and he will put on a _show. __  
><em>

In a way, it's in his blood (_on the dirty floor_).

And..._yes. _The main show has caught the twenty-four hour flu. They're a trapeze performance, of four family members who work _with _a net, but three members have caught the flew, only leaving the little girl, bored and irritated, in their room and sighing. This means it's time, time for all their week's worth of practice to be showed to the word.

The Daring Dangers is the name that Renegade comes up with.

"That...is _lame,_" Artemis huffs, pointing at the red and white outfits.

"It's what we have to wear to blend in, be one with the show-biz. Believe me, Diane, I could have done a lot, _lot _worse." After all, Renegade can't account for one late John Grayson's sartorial choices, what could be described as traffic light. However, Renegade is still partial to red and yellow, though dark blue is the color of choice for him.

Diane Danger huffs, but still goes into the dressing room of the Bioship and puts the clothes on, complaining all the way. Dean Danger glares at the costume, takes his own, rolls his eyes, and shoots Renegade an '_are you serious_' look, before shrugging and taking his own. "At least I don't have a giant heart," he mutters.

Dan Danger rolls his eyes. "The costumes aren't that bad!"

**. . . **

Haly lets them in.

Dan Danger isn't that sure why though. They're not as good as...

Doesn't matter. Dan Danger loves the stage. The stage loves him back.

_And do you even know the meaning of love?_

**. . . **

Renegade's worked sick before. Renegade's worked while hardly being able to _breathe _before. Renegade's worked while on the brink of death and he _always _gets back up. Flu doesn't stop him from climbing on to the trapeze, grinning at M'gann even if he doesn't mean it, and taking a sweeping look of their performance.

The best performance must be how he convinces everyone that he's fine. He'll _manage_.

Their ghosts can't haunt him, even here (_except they always are, they will always scream_). Wally juggles flaming torches, his speed instincts finally having a use, Artemis and Roy are shooting arrows through the barrels while Conner throws them in the air, and Renegade _flies. __  
><em>

He's a natural, you see. He's unstoppable, and everyone holds their breath while he twists through the air with three somersaults (_there's another in the memories of his wings, of a little dead boy_) while M'gann twists through the air and tries not to use her powers. He can't help that stab in his chest of spite because the circus is where the ordinary people get to be extraordinary, and powers aren't-

(_In the air you forget about the serum burning through your veins._)

(_In the air you are human._)

(_In the air you are eternal._)

Renegade almost laughs even if it's bad for the show, and smiles bright enough the blind the sun. Sometimes he'll still look in the mirror and think, just think, this is a mockery of what he once had, of the pure delight, but in the nights that he can't fall asleep and sits up and stares into the dark until his eyes sting and burn, what he has now seems good enough.

Then he falls and he's falling and how did he _miss_ and oh god he doesn't want to die he's to selfish to die- _You just can't let go of your life. _-and now life means more to him than it did before and- They execute the save perfectly, no one knows the fall was intentional, and the crowd cheers at their death-defying stunts (_"without the safety of a net!"_). _  
><em>

**. . . **

Artemis and Red Arrow carry him out like a _child, _and that's just so wrong, because Renegade's a killer, and killers aren't supposed to be children. He's got his unnatural serum strength and he doesn't know why he'd need their help.

"Stop complaining and let us help you," Red Arrow growls while Renegade struggles in their grip. He shouldn't be carried, Red Arrow doesn't even _trust _him. _He _doesn't trust him (after all, he could very well be the mole, but just in denial, or just waiting for the moment Deathstroke catches him unawares and gets _everything_).

"Ungrateful little brat," Artemis mutters under her breath. Renegade can't help but let out a snort of laughter at that, and both of the others unconsciously relax.

When he gets back, he tries to lift the bunk but it isn't working, his powers aren't working, and why does he feel so tired?

Something's wrong.

He turns on his glove, fiddling with the JL tech until he got through his JLA villains database backdoor, and searches through the night, _memorizes _through the night, who they might be facing. He doesn't even have a clue, but doesn't quit, even at the constant insistence of Kid Flash and Miss Martian.

Then, he falls asleep.

(His friends will say it's adorable.)

(He'll remind them that he doesn't have a no-kill rule.)

In his dreams, six knights flying across the sky, laughing.

**. . . **

They catch Parasite.

Haly knows who he is.

It's the circus, man. It brings out the best and worst in everyone.

**. . .**

And there's that one moment in the air, that one moment when everything's perfect and it feels _exactly _like flying with his wings in the air and the black feathers drifting down, that one moment when Renegade smiles like he used to years ago, and he can see that one snapshot, where everyone's in the moment of the show and Haly's proud gaze is directed right at him.

There's that one moment in the air, where everything's fallen into place even if he knows reality is a screwed up mess, but he's got people he thinks might be his friends, and a future, for once, which is more than what a lot of former assassins can say.

His life is pretty good.

**. . . **

"That was actually...pretty awesome. Dude, we should totally visit the next time Haly's comes to Central."

"How about when it comes to Gotham-"

"Oh, right, Artemis, so that you can visit your cousin? With the spelling bee?"

"Yes. She'd like this. A lot."

"Just because of this, doesn't mean I'm off your cases for being the mole. Maybe the mole could be a distraction, but we cannot risk that..."

"Alright, Speedy."

"Red. Arrow."

"Well, the circus was really fun, Renegade! I'm sure Conner loved it too! I'd only ever seen the Circus in movies, and this was much better!"

"I know for a fact that Jack Haly extended an invitation for us to come anytime."

And, heck, maybe they'll even go. See the sights. Smell the popcorn. Gorge on the cotton candy. Meet Zitka. (And of course it's wishful thinking, but, c'mon, give him the chance to dream.)

**. . .**

_You should have expected this, you asshat, _Renegade tells himself, facing the Dark and Scary Batman in his apartment. _He would've found out, you can't cover your tracks that well. And then he would put it all together and now he knows. Now he fucking pities you. _There's something about being pitied, it's not much worse than being hated, but it is. That's the message, something Deathstroke's carved into his mind.

"I know who you are." Odd that he's gotten used to Batman's growl, and the lack of one surprises him, hand immediately on his gun and ready to pull it out and shoot. "Haly's Circus doesn't have as many missing children as you think, Richard Grayson." There's this look in the Bat's eyes, like he _knows _Richard Grayson.

The reply springs from his mouth before he can think of anything better. "Who? Oh, you mean that kid who got offed by Tony Zucco_ four years ago_? Alright, yeah, I'm some dead boy. You already know my ID. All the villains in the world do." Renegade looks around the apartment for some way to escape this, and finds nothing except for his clothes strewn messily on the floor and his glove peeking out of the closet. Batman's blocking the only window.

"I can help you, Renegade. I understand."

"No, you _don't. _I'm Andrew Wilson, Slade Wilson's nephew. I am not some dead circus kid!" _Wait, what does he mean by understand? No one should understand, unless they've seen their parents slaughtered before- _And there's one man in Gotham with the means and the money and the build and he was _at _the circus _that day _and all the pieces fall together like a broken glass sculpture. "Bruce Wayne. Get _out_ of my apartment."

**. . .**

**And that was how he found out Batman's secret ID. :)**


End file.
